


Let's Play Along

by kibasniper



Series: Femslash February 2020 [17]
Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Desire, Drinking, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2020, Fire, Gallows Humor, Humorous Ending, Manipulative Relationship, Mind Games, Realization, Shock & Awe, Slice of Life, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Eleanor figures out the truth again, forcing her and Vicky to keep turning the tables on each other.
Relationships: Eleanor Shellstrop/Real Eleanor Shellstrop | Vicky
Series: Femslash February 2020 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618900
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Let's Play Along

**Author's Note:**

> Femslash February 2020 Day 17: Fire.

“...and then, everything added up! You’re not gonna forking believe this, but this is the Bad Place, Vicky! We’re in the-!”

“So, you know again?”

Eleanor flinched, her useless heart thundering in her chest. Vicky’s curt interjection sliced through her thoughts and stunned her. She had felt like she had been struck by lightning when she realized the truth about the Good Place, but one glance at the creases in Vicky’s brow and the tightness in her jaw spelled out another truth that stripped Eleanor of her voice.

Vicky dragged her fingers through her black curls. She huffed out a sigh and dug her elbow against the coffee table, the bottle of Bacardi half-empty between them. Their glasses were down to their last drops. Vicky poured herself another drink, letting it spill over the rim and spread, the philosophy books Chidi carefully selected for them having their pages soaked with a dark red hue until the words became illegible.

Sucking down a breath, Eleanor shot to her feet, the couch pillow falling behind her. She balled her hands into fists and barked, “What the fork do you mean by that?’”

Vicky rolled her eyes. “Look, don’t get mad. You don’t want Michael to find out and reboot you again, do you? Come on.”

“‘Reboot?’ ‘Again?’” Eleanor sputtered, stepping back. Panic flashed across her features. She jerked her head over her shoulder, half-expecting Michael to appear and punish her for a reason she didn’t quite fathom.

Sighing, Vicky cupped her drenched glass and chugged it. The liquid rolled down the sides of her face, staining her soft peach cardigan and reminding Eleanor of blood. As Eleanor rubbed her throat, Vicky gazed at her neck, knowing her pulse fluttered uselessly behind her soft flesh.

She chucked the glass over her shoulder and grinned as it shattered. Pushing off on her knees, she clipped her hair behind her ears and tilted her head. She dragged her tongue over her pearly white teeth, relishing in the uncertainty stressing Eleanor’s complexion, her breathing turning ragged even though Vicky hadn’t started her real torment.

“Yep, that’s right. This is the Bad Place. You were a bad girl right until the moment you died, Eleanor, and Michael needed a guinea pig for this project,” Vicky said, rubbing her hands together only sigh. “I mean, you aren’t the only guinea pig. You must’ve realized those other three are part of this game, too, right? Michael’s idea of having you guys torture each other for all eternity was interesting, but four hundred reboots later, and you’re still figuring it all out.” She threw her hands up in the air, her cackle piercing the space between them and chilling Eleanor to the bone. “You’d think Michael would have thought of a failsafe or something because you keep figuring it out! No matter what, it’s always you. Whether you’re on the bridge or at the frozen yogurt shop or waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, it’s always you forking it all up!”

A part of her wanted to sneer when Vicky jabbed her finger at her nose, but terror cemented Eleanor to the spot. She eyed the bottle, briefly entertaining the thought of smashing it over Vicky’s head and running. But there was nowhere to flee. She was in the clutches of demons with the worst one right before her, leering at her with hunger Eleanor had never known.

Vicky lowered her arm and slapped the books off the table. She strained her ears, hearing nothing and no one coming to Eleanor’s home. Right now, she was the predator, and Eleanor was her precious prey cowering before her. The thrill of truly tormenting Eleanor forced Vicky to repress a shudder, excitement burning in her belly and racing through her bloodstream, coming to a boiling point as small flames shot out from her fingertips.

“But until Michael knows that you know, you’re mine,” she crooned, raising a hand and letting the flames dance upon her palm, illuminating the wickedness in her features, “and trust me, Eleanor, when I say I know all of your-”

“Yeah, yeah, blah blah blah. So, you’re gonna actually torture me now?” Eleanor snapped back, gripping her hips. “You know I can just call Janet, have her call Michael, and announce the truth so he resets this thing, right?”

Vicky balked, her monologue dying before she had a chance to really spell it out for her. She drew back, the flames on her hand pathetically dissipating. Smoke lingered around them until that, too, vanished, forgotten as Eleanor crossed her arms, the smugness etched in her smirk making Vicky want to scream.

“You, are you saying you’d risk Michael resetting everything? What, to spite me?” she seethed, her lips curling as Eleanor checked her fingernails.

“You know what? Yeah. If you’re saying this has been attempted four hundred times or whatever, then maybe I know the drill by now.” Eleanor jeered, leaning forward so all Vicky could see was her.

She swallowed, the tables having turned too quickly. She searched her thoughts for anything malicious, for anything to make Eleanor feel even the slightest bit of fear. Her mouth moved, but no sound emerged. Threats, shrieks, sinfully delightful whispers, none of them seemed to work in her mind, and all she could do was watch Eleanor pick up her pillow and tuck it in the corner of the couch.

Sitting down, Eleanor crossed her ankles and set her elbow on the drenched table. She gestured for Vicky to do the same, saying, “Show me that little flame trick again. It was cool.”

“It wasn’t a trick, you bench,” she snarled, sitting down and raising her hand. Flames surged across her palm, twisting and turning until a snap of her fingers killed them. The light in Eleanor’s eyes sparked with amusement, Vicky growling at the notion of fascinating her.

“Anyway-” She picked at her cuticles. “-you wanna, I dunno, since this is a dead game or something, go do something fun? Make the most of things before Michael eventually reboots me?”

“How can you be so casual when you were quaking in front of me seconds ago?”

She shrugged. “A lifetime of apathy will do that to a person.”

Vicky stared at her, her frustration reaching a boiling point. Flames caressed her arms and burned holes through her sleeves. She felt like smashing her fists through the coffee table or showing Eleanor her true form, but if she did anything to alert Michael, the game would be over, and she’d be forced to take another minor role.

Sighing, she raked her fingers through her hair and breathed in deeply. Glaring at her, she leveled her voice and asked, “What do you have in mind?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Eleanor said, a sing-song quality coating her words. “Wanna drink until we puke?”

“Sounds better than talking to you,” Vicky grumbled, getting up to fetch a bottle of champagne. She raised her middle finger when Eleanor winked at her.

“You know, it was kinda hot when you made those flames appear.”

“Thanks. Fork you.”

“Right back at you, bench.”


End file.
